


that's what i want for christmas

by StrangeHormones



Series: kinky christmas twenty-twenty [5]
Category: The Resident (2011)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, NoSex, Roleplay, Voyeurism, no dialouge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28039086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeHormones/pseuds/StrangeHormones
Summary: max x reader | candy cane and roleplay
Relationships: Max (The Resident)/Reader, Max (The Resident)/You
Series: kinky christmas twenty-twenty [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040285
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	that's what i want for christmas

**Author's Note:**

> days eleven and twelve

There’s something about you like this. Completely unaware of his existence, focused on the television screen while you thoroughly enjoyed your candy cane. One might even say you were unreasonably gratified. His own private little show. Watching your tongue swirl around the stripped confection that had begun to turn a pink hued white at the end, sucking it deeply in your mouth for a few seconds before pulling it back and swiping your tongue along it to gather up any moisture that threatened to fall to your skin. You don’t even realize you’re doing it, the rhythm so familiar that it’s moved beyond second nature and become instinctual. He imagines you doing the same on your knees, pretty eyes looking up at him with your mouth full of more than a holiday treat. 

You smile, a wide thing that puts on display how your tongue twirls even as you press the treat farther into your mouth. Not to the back of your throat. But he knows you can take him that far. Maybe a little gagging, a little choking, and a beautiful tear or two, but he’ll fit just right in your pretty throat. His hand drifts to the buckle of his jeans, thinking about his fingers just barely wrapped around your throat. Feeling himself inside you, twitching, desperate to move, happy to stay where he is.

Clicking it against your teeth you stretch along the couch, back pressed against the mound of pillows at one end. It puts your bottomless lower half on display better than if he had posed you himself. The metal and leather metal away, his fly falling open like flower petals, eyes half open with the thought of his lips dragging long the inside of it. Higher and higher until he could show you all the wonderful things he could do to you with his own tongue. That perfect knee hitched over his shoulder so he could savor every part of you he could reach with his tongue. 

His hand dips beneath the elastic of his underwear, tracing up the oversized t-shirt that had been stretched and thinned from both time and your love for it. Most importantly, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination when the chill of the large apartment makes your nipples harden. Straining nubs he wants to wrap his lips around, roll between his teeth, his fingers. How you’d moan and writhe against him while he lavished affection on them ad stretched you with his fingers. He grips himself, hard enough to cut glass and so close. Too close.

His tongue, his fingers, too close is exactly how he wants you. More than wants, or needs, beyond coveting, it’s his. He’s sure of it. Max wants to make you sure of it. Stroking himself as he imagines you warm and wet around him, so tight, that pretty place between your legs is just for him. His breath hitches when his palm curves around his weeping hand and moves down his shaft, a low moan that couldn’t be stopped by any power in the universe tumbles from his throat. 

Your eyes dart to the mirror, candy cane clattering to the floor, and movie forgotten entirely. He stands along with you, a pulsing grip on his cock but nothing else. It’s dangerous because he’s so close to his end. And you’ve barely even started. 


End file.
